


Like An Anthem In My Heart

by GMTYUniverse



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: + multiple other footballers, Angst, Coming Out, Fluff, Football, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Soccer, Some kissing, WORLD CUP AU, football!Louis, football!harry, im so sorry niall is not in this fic, sorry niall please forgive me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:35:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GMTYUniverse/pseuds/GMTYUniverse
Summary: “Frankly, there has been a breach in privacy.”And oh.It makes Louis relax at first. Because while he doesn’t really know what that means and why it’s got everyone up in arms, at least no one has died.Except, when he observes the panicked faces and one mildly disturbed grimace once more, he suddenly realises what this is about, and dread pools in his stomach. There’s only one conclusion he can draw from their reactions – really only one thing that compromises Louis’ value as a player, unfortunately. There is only one thing that’d make their expressions that unpleasant, expressions Louis never wanted to see.Because it’s not supposed to go like this.Louis is playing his first World Cup, and he's anxious enough as it is without the added pressure of being out and his best friend not being there. Plus, there's this new, really sweet, rosy-cheeked, curly-haired string bean boy teammate that Louis definitely should not be crushing on.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mauraleeisme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mauraleeisme/gifts).



> Hello! 
> 
> Let me first of all apologize for this being late. It had to do with a lot of things, but at the end of the day it's my responsibility and I obviously didn't do something right. Second of all, thank you so much to the people who organised the 1D Fanworks exchange. I wrote this fic for a lovely person, who I had some great talks with on what they wanted the fic to be like and what elements needed to be in there. As a small apology, the fic is about double in length than it was supposed to be. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Clearly I took some liberties with the World Cup and the teams - as the fic takes place during the WC in Qatar in 2020. I also made Louis & Harry a little younger, so they're 23 and 21.
> 
>  
> 
> **// On a serious note - this fic deals heavily with the aftermath of someone being forced out of the closet via leaked photos. So keep that in mind while reading. I asked a couple of people both on and off Tumblr to read it and help me portray it. There is implied name-calling and one incident of a deliberate push. If that content is triggering for you, or you have questions on whether or not this fic is for you - please know that you can always drop me a message on Tumblr.**
> 
>  
> 
> [You can find me here.](goodmorningtoyouuniverse.tumblr.com) //

**Before.**

 

It’s bad.

Louis realises as much when his phone won’t stop vibrating, so he settles for turning it off completely. He knows it’s slightly irresponsible – Gareth Southgate will probably want to talk to him too, whatever it is that’s going on. He knows he fucked up at training today, but he doesn’t think it warrants such a big response. Then again, he is the ‘rookie’ midfielder, so he does have more to prove than some of the other players, he reckons. But being shouted at by anonymous faces online isn’t really how Louis likes to spend his time after a particularly draining session, so he moves into the bathroom to take a nice hot shower instead.

He’s just changed into his sweats when there’s a knock on his hotel room door, which means that it’s not just bad - it’s really bad, if they want to interrupt training schedules in the run-up to the World Cup. He’s already nervous as is, and this isn’t helping at all.

‘It’s me,’ he hears Liam, his manager and also best mate of 6 years say. ‘Open up Lou, it’s important.’

Louis sighs, then marches over to open the door. “If it’s to do with passes today, I don’t want to hear it. I know they were subpar.”

The look on Liam’s face immediately makes Louis shut up from making any more snarky commentary. He’s serious. A feeling of dread starts to pool in his stomach.

‘Louis. Southgate wants to see you. I’m assuming you haven’t checked your phone.’

“What’s going on?” He counters, pulling anxiously on one of the drawstrings of his grey sweats. He’s only just returned from their midday training session. What could possibly have happened in a mere 2 hours to have Southgate wanting to summon him?

‘Have you checked your phone?’ Liam asks again, and Louis shakes his head no.

“Turned it off because it kept vibrating with notifications. Thought it was just because of the open training session today. Didn’t want to deal with it.”

Liam’s face softens. There’s something in his eyes that Louis recognises as sympathy, bordering on pity. More confirmation that whatever this is, is really, extremely bad. 

‘Good. Don’t turn it on. In fact, bring it over to me. Do you want to change? It’s okay if you don’t want to, don’t think Gareth will mind.’

It apparently is also incredibly urgent, if they don’t even want him to change in something more appropriate for meeting the manager of the national team. He frantically wonders if he’s done anything in his career that could’ve somehow gotten him removed from the team just days before the tournament begins. Louis comes up short though.

“I mean, they’re comfortable and these sweats do wonders for my arse,” he jokes. Besides, Louis’ fairly sure that athleisure is all the rage these days. He’s wearing a vintage MJ tee that he reckons will do just fine. He wanders back into his hotel room to sort out his hair. It’s still wet from the shower so he can’t really do much except use a hairband to keep it out of his face.

Liam follows him inside and immediately swipes Louis’ phone from where it had been resting on the marble countertop. Louis had initially found the hotel suites a bit too large and quite… excessive. Most of the players use the team’s chef and eat together before and after training. He’s fairly certain that there’s no one on the British team that actually uses the kitchenettes for anything but making tea, coffee and the occasional bowl of cereal or fruit. Which is what he’d been planning to make for himself before his phone had started blowing up.

‘Ready?’ Liam confirms, and Louis just nods then follows him outside.

“Can you at least tell me whether this is about my abysmal training performance or about something else?”

He gets a reproachful look in return, effectively making him shut up. He knows when Liam is done talking, and clearly that point has been reached already. There’s a constant frown on Liam’s face, and Louis kind of wants to reach out and smooth it over with his finger. However, he reckons that probably won’t be appreciated either, even though it’d hopefully maybe crack the anxious atmosphere that’s hovering around them as they march down the hotel hallway.

So he stays quiet until they reach another hotel room and Liam abruptly stops walking. It’s a bit strange, because Louis hasn’t ever really spoken to Gareth outside of trainings and conference room meetings. It only makes him more anxious as to what this conversation is possibly going to be about.

Liam just eyes him up one more time, something akin to sympathy or pity in his face that makes dread pool in Louis’ stomach.

‘Lou – whatever happens next, I just need you to know that I’m on your side.’

He guesses Liam means to be reassuring, but with no context it only makes things worse. He wants to joke around and ask who’s died, but he’s honestly too scared what the response will be, so he just nods once and then enters the room.

It’s just as posh as Louis’ is, which is somewhat surprising, yet also exactly what Louis had expected from Southgate. Still, as he notices how many people are in the room, he can’t help but wonder why they didn’t just meet up in a conference room instead.

There’s Gareth himself, as well as the deputy trainers, and some people who have to do with the communication and PR department, if he remembers correctly. Perhaps Louis had dozed off a bit when the team was being introduced to the players. In his defence, it was after a very draining selection, and Louis had hardly slept due to extreme nerves prior to the selection day. Lottie had laughed when he had told her about it. Liam not so much.

“Welcome, Louis. Please have a seat.” Gareth motions for him to take a seat on the sofa, which prompts Louis to sit down on the chair right next to it. He’s only a little bad with authority, what can you do?

‘Is this about my performance on the field today? I just want you to know that it really wasn’t up to my normal standard and that I promise I can do much better –’ Louis starts off immediately, wanting to nip whatever this is in the bud. He worked too hard to be part of the national team, just to be kicked out of it just moments before matchday.

Southgate holds up his hand, however, effectively shutting Louis up with just one look. “It’s got nothing to do with your performance today, Louis. And while you were clearly not at your best, you really weren’t bad either. It’s not why I called you in here.”

It suddenly hits Louis that this scenario is actually much, much worse than the one he’d initially envisioned. Because if it’s not about football, and Southgate has still summoned him – then it must be _extremely_ bad.

What if something’s happened with his family back home? They’re at training camp, the start of the World Cup, he can’t just go home. He desperately wishes that he’d checked his phone, instead of chucking it on that stupidly expensive countertop.

With his thoughts eating him alive, that’s when Louis starts freaking out. He’s not proud of it, but he does. His eyes dart across the room to take in face after face, and after seeing all their solemn expressions, all he can think about is that someone really has died and they’re just waiting to tell Louis the news.

He knows he must look like he’s about to spit or bolt out of the room, because he suddenly feels Liam’s hand pressing sharply into his shoulder - pushing him back into his seat, grounding him, literally.

Southgate gives him another pitiful look, which is honestly something Louis hopes he’ll never have to see again.

“Frankly, there has been a breach in privacy.”

And oh. It makes Louis relax at first. Because while he doesn’t really know what that means and why it’s got everyone up in arms, at least no one has died.

Except, when he observes the panicked faces and one mildly disturbed grimace once more, he suddenly realises what this is about, and dread pools in his stomach. There’s only one conclusion he can draw from their reactions – really only one thing that compromises Louis’ value as a player, unfortunately. There is only one thing that’d make their expressions that unpleasant, expressions  Louis never wanted to see.

Because it’s not supposed to go like this. There’s a plan. A plan that’s supposed to be set in motion after the World Cup, hopefully on the back of a successful campaign with the national team. A plan that’d see him continue to wear the rainbow laces that are part of the attire during their matches. A plan that’d see him confirm his sexuality on his terms, in a way he was comfortable with. Probably a video - him and Liam had even done a few test runs that are safely stored on an external hard drive that Liam keeps locked away. There have been endless meetings, sponsorship agreements being redrafted, analyses being done on public reception – not that any of the cost-benefit stuff had bothered Louis, he’d already made up his mind, but apparently these businessmen cared and wanted confirmation.

But this – this isn’t what was supposed to happen. None of this is what was supposed to happen, and Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know what the consequences will be, doesn’t even want to think about how this story came out. How he was just forced out.

Southgate sighs again, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Louis. We’ve just gotten confirmation from the Sun that they’ll run it tonight, nothing we can do about it. It’s just a courtesy extended to us so we can prepare ourselves.”

‘Will you bench me because of this?’

He blurts the words out before actually giving himself a chance to process everything. All he can think about is the match tomorrow, and whether or not he’ll get to play. It’s his worst fear – his sexuality being turned into a weapon that’ll keep him from living out the only dream he’s ever really had.

He can’t afford to think about anything else right now, even though he can already feel the panic rising, something ugly like embarrassment and shame that come from being violated and exposed, bubbling up inside of him.

Louis’ eyes frantically flick across the room, carefully cataloguing the facial expressions of everyone that’s involved in making the decisions, but he can’t figure anything out.

‘Please let me play, please,’ he all but begs, not even giving Southgate the time to form a proper response.

His coach raises his eyebrow. “We will absolutely let you play, I can’t miss you – you’re the best midfielder we have on the team. I’m just concerned about you. Because I can’t have you on the field distracted either. I know this is tough, and well – frankly a completely unprecedented situation for all of us. If you wanted to pull out I’d understand.”

He can’t help but frown at that, because to him it sounds awfully much like they want him to pull out but they don’t want to outright say it to his face.

‘I think,’ Liam interjects, ‘I think Louis understands perfectly well what his role is within the team, and he has made it perfectly clear that his intentions are unchanged as to his commitment. I think it’s also important to consider the impact this will have on the reputation of Britain, were Louis not to play. It’d seem rather – regressive, for lack of better words.’

“Homophobic, is the word you’re looking for, Liam,” Louis helpfully supplies. His manager doesn’t even spare him a side glance, but Louis can feel Liam’s grip tighten on his shoulder as if to warn him.

‘It also wouldn’t correspond with the rainbow laces campaign that Great Britain has been hailed a proponent of,’ one of the suits pipes up. He glances over at Louis as he speaks, and Louis is pretty sure there is a small smile tugging at his lips. At least there’s someone aside from Liam who’s on Louis’ side, it seems.

Southgate looks around the room sternly, then clears his throat. “I want to make it very clear that I have absolutely every intention to put you on the field tomorrow. I’m not asking you to tell me homophobia is deplorable, I’m very much aware of that, but it does exist. What I’m also aware of, is that this is a team sport, not an individual one. I need every person at their best. Could I have a word with Louis alone, please?”

He shares a look with Liam, then nods in the affirmative before people start piling out. It’s just him and Southgate now, and it feels incredibly intimidating somehow.

He’s seen him one-on-one before, but that was always performance-related. It feels wrong to have a conversation about something so private, when he knows that it will most certainly affect the trajectory of his professional career forever.

“Listen, Louis. I’m not going to lie to you. I would hope that all our players are decent enough to treat you just the same as before, but I unfortunately can’t guarantee that. I want to ensure that you are comfortable and feel safe. I can’t guarantee that the stadium and the fans will embrace this, I’m sure you know that just as much as I do. The only reason why I wanted to put the option of you pulling out of the match on the table, is because of your safety.”

Southgate pauses as he continues to imploringly stare at Louis as if he wills him to understand where he is coming from. To be honest, all that Louis is trying to do is refrain from freaking the fuck out while “I’ve been outed I’ve been outed everyone will know I’m gay” plays on loop in his head.

“Look. Here’s what I’m going to do. The story goes up tonight. You know that I have to hand in my official line-up at noon after we’ve had our morning training session. At the end of that training session, I want you to let me know how you’re feeling about it all. We will take stock and evaluate the situation then and make a final decision.”

Louis just nods, the reality of the situation dawning on him a little bit more second by second. He gets that Southgate is trying to help him, but it still feels like he’s being chastised, scolded like a little kid and punished for something that’s not his fault to begin with. He refuses to feel ashamed of his sexuality, because he’s not. He isn’t - there was a goddamn plan, for fuck’s sake.

He wants to yell, scream, shout and cry and ask who did this to him, but he doubts Southgate would know. Instead, he just stands up, shakes Southgate’s hand as the man apologises to him once more for what’s going to happen, and then leaves the room as if in a daze.

Liam’s waiting for him right outside, deep frown lines etching his face. “Y’alright?”

Louis lets out a humourless laugh at that question. Of course he’s not alright. He’s going to get outed. By someone he apparently trusted enough to sleep with, to allow himself to be vulnerable with.

He’s going to get outed in a truly painful, horrific way – one that’s too intimate, too private – without his consent. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. His public coming out was supposed to be a moment of pride and glory and confidence.

Now it’s one that’s soiled with scandal instead.

‘No. I’m not alright. And I can't even fucking drink to forget, because of the match we have tomorrow.’

There’s no one on the team that knows. Alex had made the initial selection, but then he’d gotten injured and had to pull out. So his only friend and confidante is unavailable. Sure he’s friendly with the other guys, but it’s not the same. He’s already anxious about going to the gym tonight, even though they’re all supposed to complete a circuit before going to sleep.

“I’ve made some calls. They gave me details about the article. It’s - it’s bad. There’s - well, there’s, uh, photos. It’s why it’s unmistakably you.”

As disturbing as it is, Louis doesn’t know whether he flinches because of the notion of photos, or because of what’s implied. That if there weren’t any photos, they could’ve denied it.

‘I wouldn’t have denied,’ he grits out.

“But at least you would’ve had a choice,” Liam argues, and sure, he means well – but Louis just wants to go back and lock himself into his hotel room until he has to go out and play. Preferably not think about the fact someone took photos of him that he had no knowledge of. He’s never let anyone take photos of him like that. So not only has someone taken it upon themselves to out him, they also thought it’d be nice to go beyond figuratively exposing him and do it literally as well.

He closes his eyes and rubs his head. ‘Liam. I know you mean well, but honestly? Not helping. I need to call my mum. Prepare my siblings.’

It suddenly dawns on Louis that he has no idea what exactly this person has told the tabloids, but he’s certain those vultures will have transformed into some sort of salacious dirty secret story anyways. There aren’t that many guys Louis has hooked up with since his football career really took off. He doesn’t have the time, really. The training regime is too strict, and there aren’t that many opportunities for him to go out unbothered. It’s not like he can walk into a gay club, as much as he might like to.

He tries to make himself feel better by telling himself that at least now he can. He can be as gay as he wants to now. Doesn’t have to watch his body language, doesn’t have to be deliberately vague when talking about partners – not that he has one – or what he finds attractive. He can wear rainbows whenever he wants, and there’s no doubt anymore about why he got that triangle tattooed on his foot.

It doesn’t help much. There’s still this sickening pressure building up in his chest, and he still kind of wants to disappear, and he hates himself for it. Because he’s not ashamed. He’s not. He’s still scared, though.

Maybe that makes him a coward. Is it that strange, though? He’s heard the latent homophobia echoed in ‘locker room banter’. Yes, his teammates don’t seem like complete assholes – but voluntarily wearing rainbow shoelaces and saying you have no issue with queer people doesn’t mean they’re okay with having a queer guy on their team. Showering with them. Changing with them. He’s in a country that’s actually incredibly discriminatory, where being gay is a crime. He’s not safe. He doesn’t feel safe.

If he had Alex here, he’d at least have one trusted friend, one barrier – an ally. He’s not so sure of that now.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, and I want you to know I’m also here as your friend. Just, as your business manager – I want to make sure we deal with this best we can.”

He waves Liam’s words off. ‘Li. You realise we’re in Qatar, yeah? A country that’s not particularly known for being great with the LGBT community. It’s not even about my reputation right now. It’s also about my safety.’

Louis doubts he’ll get arrested for it, since he’s part of a high-profile national team and he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t risk their precious championship over it – but it’s making him feel increasingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

He can see the penny drop in Liam’s brain, and then his eyes widen. “Jesus. Fuck. I hadn’t even thought of that. Louis – fuck. I know you want to not talk about this, but that makes it even more necessary. What do you want to do? Do you want to put out a preemptive statement? I’ll arrange for more security in the meantime.”

He pauses as he catches sight of the murderous look in Louis’ eyes. Liam knows how much he hates burly security guards following him around in public. But Louis also realises that this time around he doesn’t really have much of a choice anymore.

“I won’t tolerate a ‘no’. Do you want me to bring Lottie in? So you can spend some time with her?”

It’s just all too much for Louis. He doesn’t know what he wants, except that he both wants to disappear and never show his face again, as well as defy whatever bully outed him – took photos of him even, by playing tomorrow. 

At the end of the day, that’s what matters most. That he gets to play. It’s been his dream since he was a baby. He’s not going to let this stop him from living that dream.

Louis wishes his mum could be there. But he gets she wasn’t keen on flying out with all the babies. It might be the World Cup – there's also still school and work and other obligations. His oldest sister, being a make-up artist with a much more flexible schedule, had been able to plan around the event.

‘That’d be nice. If she can come,’ he concedes quietly. 

It’s stupid, but he could use a cuddle from someone who’s known him all his life and has never been anything but loving and accepting and supportive.

Liam nods in understanding, and motions Louis over so he can give him a proper hug. “Let me take care of all the shitty work stuff, then you can focus on just you, alright? I’m your manager, but I’m also your friend.”

Louis would never say no to hugs, he’s quite a tactile person. But as he lets Liam crowd his space, he can’t help but feel another rush of anxiety come over him as he wonders how receptive his teammates will be after the news breaks.

It’s clear Liam can feel his body tense up, because he tightens his arms a little around Louis, then slowly starts guiding him back down the hallway towards his own room.

“You’ll call your mum? I’ll get Lottie up here,” Liam checks before he leaves him to it. He’s already made him a cup of tea and made sure Louis is sitting on the way too expensive sofa. It’s very comfortable though. Louis wonders if maybe he can disappear into the plush seating forever.

Liam’s left his phone in arm’s reach for him, and apparently has deleted all of Louis’ social media apps from the device. It’s a bit rigorous, and a lot pre-emptive, but Louis reckons he’s right. As much as he’d like to deny it, he is the type of person who’d go online to check obsessively from now until tomorrow morning what everybody will say.

He tries hard not to think about the fallout, and how this will affect his family and the team, nor does he want to figure out who’s done this to him. It all sucks just as much. So he resolves to listen to Liam and calls his mum instead.

Louis doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to explain this to her, but he does know that he just wants to hear her voice.

She doesn’t answer the first time around, and Louis just lets it ring out before trying again. It’s not out of the ordinary for her not to answer right away, what with having to take care of two sets of twins.

The moment his mom picks up, he feels both relieved and horrible at the same time.

“Hi darling,” she breathes down the phone, and Louis immediately feels guilty. She sounds tired, and breathless, and very much like she doesn’t have time to talk Louis down from the ledge.

‘Hi mum,’ he tries to sound normal, pushes down on the need to confess right away and starts considering leaving his mother in the dark or just telling her via text.

She tuts back at him, and he just knows that she can feel his trepidation even back home in England without even looking at him. “What’s wrong, boo bear?”

‘The Sun – they’ve eh, they’ve got a story. About me. It’s – there’s nothing they can do,’ he manages in the end.

It’s quiet on the other end of the line. He can hear his mother’s soft, staccato breathing pattern.

“Oh, Louis,” she sighs, and Louis can’t bear it.

‘There’s no need to worry, mum. Southgate said I’m still going to play the match tomorrow.’

His words sound rushed to his own ears, and he can feel his throat constrict even further. Luckily, his mum keeps him from talking even more as she interrupts him.

“Stop that, Lou. It’s okay to be upset, baby. It’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re not proud. Someone took your story from you – took away your agency over your own life. You can be angry and hurt.”

It’s as if her comments trigger something inside of Louis, and just like that he can feel tears streaming down his cheeks.

He keeps apologising to her, and she keeps telling him that it’s fine, that she’s proud of him and he doesn’t need to apologise for anything. It’s when he’s calmed down a bit, that he brings up the photos.

If he really thinks about it, maybe that’s the aspect of it all that bothers him the most. Because someone took those photos while he was at his most vulnerable, asleep, took them without his consent and is now using them as proof of having spent the night together. He doesn't know what to expect of them, doesn’t know what kind of compromising position this person captured of him. He doesn’t want his siblings and family to see them and be embarrassed, because of him. His personal life and his personal choices are his and his alone.

His mum tells him they’ve never been embarrassed of him and never will be. As stupid as it is, it’s reassuring to hear his mum say those words, though he makes her promise that she’ll keep his siblings away from the media for a bit.

“Is there anything you can do about it? Sue them or something?” She asks halfway through. It’s a valid question, and in the hours that Louis has known about the story, the thought has crossed his mind multiple times.

The thing is – he doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of doing that. Because it would imply he is somehow ashamed of who he is, that he expects it to harm his career, or that it’s based on lies. And none of those sentiments ring true to him.

‘I don’t want to give off the wrong impression, so Liam – he suggested I give a statement. Like, preemptively or afterwards? About how this isn’t how I wanted things to go, but that I’m proud of who I am. It’s a bit – difficult, given the country we’re in, you know?’

He hears his mum mutter unintelligibly, which he assumes to be all sorts of unsavoury words she doesn’t want his younger siblings to pick up on. Besides, she knows just as much as Louis does – even though he would like to curse the person doing this to him as well, it won’t solve anything.

“You do what’s best for you, boo bear. Is Lottie with you? I’ll take care of the home front – don't worry about it.”

Louis rolls his eyes. They both know that he will worry anyways. ‘Yeah. Liam’s getting Lottie a pass to the hotel so she should be here soon.’

“That’s good then. What about your teammates? Have you talked to Alex yet?”

‘Mum, I told you before – he’s not here. He didn’t make the final selection because of his injury. Hasn’t been able to play enough games and get enough minutes on the field.’

It’s something he doesn’t really want to think about much. He’s trying to suppress any fears of his teammates spitting in his face or harassing him or turning him away, keeps telling himself that they’re irrational. But he worries they aren’t.

His mum acquiesces, probably remembering that he had in fact told her about how nervous he was about playing without Alex, even though he got on with plenty of the other guys in the National Team. He should really call him.

He tells his mum as much, and she just tells him that she loves him and is proud of him, then reassures him again that she won’t be letting the younger kids near any sort of news site tonight.

Telling Alex sucks. Because he goes berserk on the phone, shouting profanities at whoever is doing this to Louis, which is very endearing but not very helpful at all. He can hear Perrie in the background, telling him to calm down and listen to Louis, and a small burst of warmth ignites in his heart as he remembers how he introduced the two at a party once. They’re cute. Maybe – maybe Louis can allow himself to have something similar. Publicly.

“I feel like shit for not being there right now, bro,” Alex sulks, making Louis let out a chuckle.

‘I’d almost wish we could switch. I’ll sit at home, and you go play instead.’ It’s an admittance that just slips out, then sits there – between them. He isn’t even sure if he really means it, but it definitely has been on his mind. It would… make him feel less exposed, at least. He wouldn’t have to be scared.

“No you don’t. You’re playing the World Cup! Lou. You have to play. Please tell me you’re not seriously considering pulling out. You can’t. Show them that you’re proud. Like I know you are. You don’t owe them anything, I know that. But if you don’t go, you’d regret it. You’d be giving in. And that’s not who you are.”

Louis knows Alex is right, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets the silence linger. “Lou. You know what you’ll do? You’re going to skip the gym session I know you’ll have planned for tonight. Instead, you’re going to walk into the final training tomorrow morning with your head held high, and you’re going to play the best you can. And if anyone has a problem with you, then I will fucking strangle them with the pride laces they’re supposed to be wearing upon return.”

‘Alex!’ Perrie chastises him, but Louis just laughs as Alex refuses to take back his statement.

‘You can’t just say that out loud, even though I suppose they would’ve earned it, wouldn’t they?’ She adds, and Louis smiles.

He’s not sure how much she picked up on from his conversation with Alex, but he knows that she has his back as well. He’s just about to respond, when he hears a knock in a very familiar rhythm on his door.

“I have to go, think it’s Lottie. Thank you, though.”

‘Of course, mate. Love you. Good luck.’

It’s stupid, but just hearing Alex having no problems with saying that to him means everything to Louis. Perhaps it’s what also makes him tear up a little as he opens the door and immediately receives a koala-like hug from his little sister.

They cuddle and talk and cry together, then Lottie tells him that they should eat something – reminding Louis that the news will be out in about an hour or so as well. She calls in room-service, while he eats yet another boring, but healthy pre-made dish.

They’re half-way through eating their meals when Liam bursts into his room with an iPad in hand.

“Hey. Eh. I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay?” He trails off questioningly, only stepping further into the room once Louis nods at him.

“Good. So I thought, you might want to just get it over with and post something now – before the news drops? Own it. Don’t let the press or the news own you, that kind of thing?”

Louis doesn’t really want to think about it all. He can’t help but feel sad and mournful over a perfectly nice, controlled coming out that he’ll never get to have now. Still, he knows that Liam is right. It’s better to make a statement now and maybe have that dominate the news instead of whatever disgusting story will make its way onto the internet in less than an hour anyways.

So he nods, and takes the iPad from Liam. ‘Can I say whatever I want?’

“Whatever you feel is best. It’s your story, your life. You deserve to be in control.”

Lottie gives him an encouraging smile.

Then he writes.

 


	2. After

**After**

 

Louis would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. He is very nervous. Extremely nervous, even.

He’d contemplated two different strategies late last night with his sister. Either he’d show up extra early for practice, or show up extra late. They’d mulled over both options, but had decided that he’d feel better being early.

Normally he’s on the early side as well, and he hopes this’ll come across as if he isn’t bothered at all, while still allowing him some time to adjust.

He feels naked and vulnerable, as he strolls into the building. He’d been able to escape the hounding of journalists mostly by waiting to get out of the car until they’d already entered the training ground’s underground parking bay.

Entering the compound alone is a bit unusual for him – normally he rides the player’s bus, and he feels a bit like a coward for it. On the other hand, he just needed a little more time. Just a second to wrap his head around everything.

He hasn’t seen any of the online response – hasn’t had his phone on him since after putting up the statement. Liam had taken it from him, and he’d told his mum and closest friends they could reach him via his manager as well.

Louis feels like all the staff at the venue keeps eyeing him, so he walks a little faster until he arrives at the changing room. He knows it’s ridiculous and preposterous to assume everyone at the venue knows who he is and would be so obsessed with him they’d have all read the news, but he can’t help the paranoia.

As predicted and hoped, nobody else is inside the locker room yet. He lets out a small sigh of relief, then scolds himself for feeling relieved, before quickly changing into his gear.

The moment he slips on his cleats, he hears the door open. Alarmed, he looks up and he hates how his heart jackrabbits in his chest. There is some shuffling, then a muffled “oops”.

That’s not exactly the greeting Louis was hoping for, but he supposes it’s not as bad as a slur either.

 Harry Styles, one of the team’s reserve centre-backs, is staring at him wide-eyed.

He doesn’t know the man very well, so he has no clue how he should interpret the look on his face. He’s pretty new, Louis thinks this is the first time he’s been called on for the NT. He hasn’t seen him in the Premiership either as he’s currently on loan to PSG, if Louis remembers correctly.

There’s something innocent about his green eyes, but that could just be a dangerous miscalculation on Louis’ part. At the very least they’re distracting, and Louis really can’t use a distraction. He’s got enough to worry about as is.

He gets out a ‘hi’ in response as he raises his eyebrows at his teammate. Harry’s got a headband on but has stalled completely in the doorway of the locker rooms.

Louis is nervous, and he’d rather just get this over with – he’s about to just rip off the band-aid and ask Harry to get out whatever it is that’s bothering him, when he hears the tell-tale sounds of other players arriving.

Maybe it’s cowardly, but he quickly gets up and collects his stuff, before fleeing towards the adjacent strategy room.

He’s not ready yet. He just needs another moment, a few more breaths away from prying green eyes. There’s some British staff mulling around, but most of them he’s already seen yesterday at the impromptu meeting. They just give him a small nod in acknowledgment, and otherwise let him be.

It’s not long before he hears a familiar pattern of feet hitting the ground. He looks over, and finds Harry Styles staring at him from across the room. It’s honestly starting to make him feel a bit uncomfortable, what with the unwavering steady gaze Styles has got going on. They’ve never really spoken before, and the circumstances under which he is now apparently obsessed with Louis’ presence is making Louis’ anxiety skyrocket.

He can feel the urge to leave grow again, but he knows he can’t. He’s trapped in a fucking strategy room.

He really should’ve just come in late.

Who cares about stupid strategy, anyways? (He does. And so does everybody else on the team, and they’re a team. Even if he didn’t care, he would have to, because he’s just one player of a bigger machine.)

This is why he’d wanted to come out in his own time, on his own terms. To avoid exactly this. He wishes Alex was here. Alex would be able to be the eyes in his back that Louis needs right now. He’d have been a great distraction, they could’ve holed up in Alex’ room with the very valid excuse of skyping Perrie yesterday. They would’ve actually done that too and Louis is certain that he’d be having a much better morning than whatever this is turning into.

“Hey mate, just wanted to say we've got your back,” Eric Dier sidles up to him to say and claps him on the back. His teammate Dele nods, an almost defiant look on his face as if challenging anyone on the team to make this into a big deal.

It's ... nice. But he won't pretend that he hasn't seen some uncomfortable glances being thrown his way. Or pitiful ones. He isn't sure what's worse, at the moment.

Not all players seem to be totally aware of what’s going on, but they will be by the end of this meeting. Southgate enters the room and immediately zeroes in on Louis. A sense of dread fills his stomach as he realises that his sexuality will definitely be part of the news bulletin even within their strategy meeting.

At least he doesn’t start off the meeting with it, waits instead until they are discussing their competition.

‘Now I wish we didn’t have to discuss this, but – we do have to take into account the news story that broke yesterday. I’m going to say this right now, Tomlinson is our most valuable midfielder. If you take any issue with his sexuality, you best keep it to yourselves or let me know now so I can take you off the team. You’ve all been championing acceptance through our rainbow laces campaign, so I’d hope you all live up to that as well. You’re a team. I expect you to show that mentality on and off the field.’

Southgate points at the screen behind him as he lets his gaze slide across the room. ‘All the more so, given the fact I do expect our opposing team to use it against us. As well as the audience. So be prepared for it, and ignore it. Alright – now let’s move on with their predicted plays and field set-up.’

He doesn’t linger on the topic, and for that Louis is grateful. He already feels incredibly singled out, and for the first time ever does he feel like a liability – a weakness of the team as a whole. It’s exactly what he’d been afraid of.

He tries to let it go, and focus on who he’s supposed to cover instead. It’s difficult, but he manages – ready to just go out and train for a bit.

There’s definite tension as they pass the ball around the field, but at least no one is deliberately excluding Louis which he’ll take as a win. Still, he finds himself weirdly aware of the way he moves, his posture and wrists while playing.

After the closed training session, it’d normally be time to hit the showers. Southgate asks him to hang back for a minute, and Louis is grateful that he won’t be made to participate in what was undeniably going to be an incredibly awkward situation.

“I’ve got the press conference at 2 PM. Harry will be there, I just wanted to give you an open invitation to join – completely up to you.”

Louis’ quiet for a bit. ‘Thank you, sir. Ehm. I think I’ll sit this one out, if that’s alright. I don’t really want to distract from what the focus should be. If I go, people will want to ask questions.’

Southgate nods as he mulls Louis’ answer over, then nods. “Alright. I won’t speak on the matter either. See you on the field. Good session, kid.”

He murmurs a thanks in response before heading down into the changing rooms. Most of the players seem to have left already, or are at least out of the showers. He tries to be quick and quiet as he makes his way to the showers and back, but apparently his movement doesn’t go unnoticed.

He’s just wrapped his towel securely around his waist, when he hears that same deep, slow as molasses voice from earlier in the morning.

“Hey,” Harry starts, clearly not at all realising that the way he’s blocking Louis’ way to his clothes is rather intimidating – or he’s doing it on purpose, but his face looks too nice for it. There’s something jittery about him, as if he can’t quite contain whatever it is that’s threatening to spill out of his mouth, even though he talks incredibly slowly.

‘Hi. Can I..?’ Louis motions at his bag, and Harry finally seems to get that Louis is still only in his towel and maybe that’s a little uncomfortable. He shuffles aside to let Louis pass, taking a seat on the bench just a couple feet away from him. Most players have left by now, except for Eric who is slinging his back over his shoulder before waving at Louis.

“See yous in a couple hours – take it easy,” he adds with a grin, then passes the two of them and is out the door.

The moment he’s gone, Harry starts talking again – even though Louis hasn’t gotten any further with getting dressed beyond pants and trackies.

“I’m uh, Harry.”

Louis blinks. Obviously he knows that. They’re in the same team, for fuck’s sake.

‘Yes. You’re Harry, Styles. If you’re going to, like, work up to a comment about me being great with balls or go the other extreme and make a homophobic remark – can you at least hurry up?’

That seems to startle Harry, who immediately shakes his head with widened eyes.

“I wasn’t! I promise I wasn’t. I was – you’re great. I just wanted to say that you’re so great. At football. And like – being you. I admire you, ‘s what I wanted to tell you. For being brave, and strong and setting such an example. Makes other kids less scared.”

It’s clear that his words are meant in earnest, and they kind of take Louis by surprise. He wasn’t expecting that. At all. He wonders if Harry has family or friends that are part of the LGBT-community, given his words.

Because he’s so overwhelmed, Louis just sits there fish mouthing, in nothing but his sweatpants.

“I’m so sorry, I chose the wrong moment, didn’t I? I just got so excited, and I’m nervous too. That doesn’t help. I’ll uh – I’ll be cheering you on tonight,” Harry backpedals before making a hasty retreat from the room.

Louis frowns to himself as he spots Harry’s bag still sitting on the floor, then shakes his head in wonder and confusion about what just happened.

The door slams open again, Harry traipsing over with flushed cheeks to his bag as he mutters some sort of excuse.

He’s gone again before Louis has even processed what’s going on, words somewhere stuck between his mind and mouth.

But – he doesn’t really have time to overanalyse the situation. They’ve got a game to prepare for.

 

...

 

The match is interesting to say the least.

As per Liam’s advice, Louis has continued to avoid online media, so he has no idea about the general public’s reaction to his coming out. He’s overheard some bits and pieces from other players, but he’s pretty much flying blind.

He’s been anxious all day about the match, but it doesn’t quite hit him just how much until he’s lined up in the tunnel and their opponents come in to do the same.

They’re playing Russia, which is really just Louis’ unfortunate luck. He’s met some of them before, and while he never tried to take it personally – he’s definitely heard them make hissed remarks that had a lot more heat behind them than any of the British banter.

He doesn’t dare look up at the other players, instead focused on staring at the exit or doting on the adorable little kid that is holding his hand.

He can feel the glares in his direction, and he has to close his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep himself from looking over. Louis supposes that he’s at least somewhat relieved they’re actively talking to him, just whispering about him. It might be Russian, which Louis doesn’t understand – he gets the message nevertheless.

It makes him feel like he’s just a sitting duck.

Luckily he doesn’t have to wait much longer before he gets to escape the confined hallway, though he braces himself for what’ll greet him once he’s out on the field. Banners have been prohibited, but that doesn’t mean people won’t chant. He has no way of knowing if the British fans will be supportive of him. Louis is too young really to have built a lot of rapport with them. Sure, he’s seen as a talent. Yes, he’s done really well as part of Man U – but this is his first World Cup. He’s played some qualifiers, but that’s not the same.

Nothing’s the same anymore, anyways. He kind of hates it. Louis tries to shake the tension out of his body, then steps onto the grass with feigned confidence, hand a little clammy in that of the young kid.

 _So far so good_ , he can’t help but think to himself when they take a team photo and sing their national anthems with no abnormalities. The boy grins up at him and shoots him a thumbs up, before running off to the side. The gesture makes Louis relax a little bit. However, he’s rudelye reminded of his new reality when the team captains motion for their teammates to walk past one another and shake hands, and some of the Russian players refuse to touch Louis.  

It’s humiliating, is what it is. He’s not a pariah. He’s not any other Louis than the one he was before. Just openly gay now.

But he can’t cry about it, or scream, or get angry. All he can do is let it fuel him into absolutely decimating the Russians on the field. Because Louis will rise above this. He will.

Once the referee blows his whistle, it’s clear that despite their earlier resistance to shaking Louis’ hand, they definitely have no qualms whatsoever pushing Louis around.

He isn’t given an inch of space to move, and it makes him feel useless and frustrated. They’re minutes away from half-time and they’re still scoreless. Louis can’t help but think that it’s somehow his fault – that he’s become a liability, making him that much more determined to prove everybody wrong.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters under his breath as he readjusts his headband to keep his fringe out of his eyes, before making a feigned sharp turn in an attempt to try and create space for his teammates.

Except that there’s two Russians following him every move, and suddenly there’s Golovin who manages to somehow knee his stomach so hard Louis can’t help but fall down.

 _Don’t vomit, don’t vomit, don’t vomit._ He feels the bile rise in his throat, but he swallows, once, twice, three times in an attempt to make it go away. His ears are ringing, and he can feel spit fall onto his face.

It could be an accident, of course, but he’s pretty sure it’s not.

Not the knee, not the spit that hit his face, not the word ‘homo’ he can hear ever so clearly, despite the fact the world seems muted at the moment.

There’s a whistle going off somewhere, and as he blinks hard, he thinks he sees a flash of red. A bit of a scuffle happens, but then the medic is checking him out and asking him to sit up. Louis wants to refuse, but he can hear the ‘boos’ echoing in the stadium and he doesn’t know if they’re for Golovin or him. He doesn’t want to give them any more material, so he forces himself to sit and tries to breathe. His ribs hurt a little, but he’s mostly just really nauseated.

The medic thrusts some sort of drinking bottle in his hand and he jugs its contents down, trying to stabilise his breathing a little more, then pushes himself off the ground. The referee is motioning that he either needs to get off the field or get back into the game. He gives a reassuring nod, pats the medic on his back and shakes his head at Kane who’s asking if he’s alright.

None of the Russian players apologise. But it’s fine. He hadn’t really expected any differently.

Louis gets a free kick out of it anyways, and everyone knows that it’s his not-so-secret weapon. Long-range free kicks are somewhat of an art form that Louis has mastered quite well, if he does say so himself. And that’s how Louis scores the first goal from about 30 meters away right before half-time. His first during a World Cup game.

He immediately looks up at the crowd, and smiles even bigger when he spots his sister celebrating. His teammates pile onto him to congratulate him, and he can’t help but feel relieved at the sense of solidarity and the way nobody seems to worry about their body language around him.

So he just grins elatedly and hugs everyone back, then glances in the direction of Southgate. He gives Louis a firm nod, and raises his fist. Louis mirrors the movement, before letting his eyes glide over all the reserve players. He can’t help but notice Harry, who’s cheering and whooping and hanging all over Sancho. The ridiculousness of it all makes him snort, but then the referee whistles and he knows he needs to get back to his starting position.

During halftime, Southgate emphasises that it’s important to create room and make sure their interplay is dynamic enough to throw off the Russians from interfering too much. They don’t talk about the reason Louis got his free kick.

Turns out they absolutely _can_ manage Southgate’s instructions – there’s another beautiful goal by Rashford at 73’ that Louis gets to assist on, before the game is suddenly over at 90+2 minutes with no real threats having come their way at all, really.

After the initial celebration wears off, Louis realises what comes next. Interviews. And because he scored and assisted – they’ll want to talk to him.

Louis doesn’t want to talk to _them,_ though, and he actually tries to sneak away and pointedly ignores the tv crew by waving enthusiastically at his sister and her new brunette friend. Still - he can’t avoid the press forever, he knows that. Soon enough he finds himself in front of a microphone.

The first couple of questions are pretty standard, and Louis feels comfortable and happy answering them. But then he sees the glint in the reporter’s eyes change and he knows what’s going to happen before the words are even out of the guy’s mouth.

‘We can’t help but talk about the reason you got that first kick, though.’

“Can’t you?” Louis butts in, not unkindly. “I think what we should focus on is our technique. I was happy with the way I could place the free kick. What did you think?”

The reporter seems a bit taken aback by how Louis has turned the question around. In fact, he seems so stunned, that he just mumbles something about the placement, before letting Louis go.

He rushes to hit the showers, and even though it feels much like ripping off a band-aid, he tries not to feel awkward and acts as normal as possible throughout the entire process.

Louis can tell that there are still some people who aren’t entirely comfortable with him, and to be honest – neither is he. But it is what it is, and nothing is going to change that. He is who he is, and while the situation sucks, he’s not the slightest bit apologetic over that.

Nevertheless, it’s confusing and stressful to be surrounded by people who seem to act like they can’t figure out whether they still like you or not. He kind of wants to break the tension, but he’s not sure if he’s ready, or if the team as a whole is ready to joke about it all. Maybe everything’s a bit too fresh for that. He’s just glad the game went well, at least that gives his teammates something to congratulate him on.

Victory fosters camaraderie, it’s as easy as that. Louis hopes this is just the start of a winning streak – he could use the distraction.

Harry bounds over and hugs him. Louis is a self-proclaimed cuddler, and no one ever found it weird. Now he finds himself weirdly self-conscious of the seconds that tick by whilst Harry has his arms around Louis’ shoulders.

‘That free kick was fucking fantastic! What a great fucking comeback that was!’ Harry all but screams happily in his ear.

He smiles, grateful that Harry doesn’t ask him about how he’s feeling or what went through his head, because he’s not ready to talk about it.

Being judged, harassed; having someone try and take away his dream over his sexuality was his biggest fear - and it came true for a couple of seconds out on the field today.

He just hopes that it won’t happen again.


	3. Spain

 

The newspapers are rather unimaginative. _“Tomlinson shows skill with balls”,_ _“Tomlinson sticks it in one!”_

They’re kind of funny, but it’s exactly what Louis didn’t want the press to write about him. As much as he’s in favour of erasing homophobia and showing LGBT pride and presence in the football world, reducing it all to a joke in the header of an article doesn’t seem right either.

In order to try and keep his focus, he leaves his phone switched off for the most time, only using it to call his mum and text Alex on and off. It’s just Liam and old-school newspapers that are provided by the hotel that inform Louis of what’s being said about him. His manager does make it a point to also show him some of the positive responses, though.

It’s all rather strange to read people declaring their love for him, just because he’s out.

Before, he was a role model only to football-obsessed people who appreciated his style and technique.

Now, he’s been branded a role model just for being gay. He’s not sure what he thinks about it. He’s proud of who he is, but he’d rather have football define him than his sexuality. Is that wrong? Louis doesn’t know.

It’s not like he’s really got that much time to try and figure it all out. The competition continues and so do his training sessions, physical therapy and actual games. They have four days to recuperate, train, and figure out their strategy before they have to do it all over again, preferably with the same score.

Their next match is against Spain, and Louis can’t help but be a little excited. Some of his United teammates have made the Spanish line-up and he can’t wait to face off against them - especially David de Gea. He’s like a big friendly giant, but Louis knows how competitive he is. They had a huge prank war just last season, the two of them ganging up on their team members.  

Also, Harry will be starting this time around. He spent the entirety of their previous match cheering Louis on from the bench, but since Jones has strained his calf in training, Harry’s been promoted. Louis is happy for him, despite feeling bad for Jones – his own United teammate.

It’s just that he likes Harry. He hasn’t treated him any different than before, and he’s a lovely friend – especially in the absence of Alex. He’s funny, and nice and weirdly enough very clumsy. It’s such a contrast with Harry on the actual field that it’s entertaining all on its own to just watch him try to move around.

And it feels _good_. Having someone on the team he can depend on to make him laugh. Sure, he’s got some of his own teammates in the first team here too – but he hasn’t been with United that long. He’s the rookie there still, and while he’s friendly with them, it’s definitely not the same. There’s a lingering unease with some, interactions based on tolerance rather than acceptance and actual friendship. It might be because of his sexuality, it might also just be based on the fact that they still don’t know him all that well.

Then again, maybe it’s all in Louis’ head. He can’t help it, though – can't seem to shut his own thoughts up. Liam’s told Louis he shouldn’t worry about the consequences of his coming out too much with regards to his career and sponsorship deals. It’s easier said than done.

Lottie knows how he gets before important games – she witnessed him winding himself up for the Premier League just a couple months ago – so she’s essentially given up on getting Louis out of his funk. She just shows up when she’s allowed to, and provides Louis with stories from back home, photos of her newest outfit and hair considerations, and the best cuddles a sibling could ask for.

He’d feel a bit guilty for keeping her away from her own life for so long, but she’s reassured him that she wanted to be there for him and had actually also made fast friends with Harry’s sister. It’s a funny, but very welcome coincidence. At least he knows she won’t be alone in the stands next time.

They all go out for dinner the day before the match, which essentially means that Harry and Louis eat yet another balanced meal of chicken and greens while their sisters order whatever they want and make their brothers pay for it.

It’s great, though. He feels just as much at ease with Gemma as he does with Harry, especially as they bond over teasing Harry’s clumsiness when he spills his glass of water all over the table and his own plate of chicken.

“Sharing is caring,” Louis teases as he offers Harry some bites of his own serving. Lottie protests at that, saying that he never shares food with her. He retaliates by stealing some chips off of her plate, to which she shakes her head in disbelief.

‘Thought you weren’t supposed to eat fried foods.’ He rolls his eyes at her – it's not like the two chips he ate are going to kill him.

“See how great I am in sharing with you Lots?”

Harry barks out the most ridiculous yet endearing laugh Louis has heard in his life, making him (and Lottie & Gemma) crack up all over again as Harry tries to cover his own mouth and shut himself up.

It’s fun, and the distraction of a nice, almost normal dinner is just what Louis needed to get his head in the game. He’d never admit it to anyone, but the High School Musical soundtrack is most definitely in his Spotify work-out playlist.

All in all, Louis feels calmer when he walks out on the field the next day than he did last time, but his heartbeat is still erratic – and it’s not just from excitement.

David comes over to give him a quick handshake and hug. The gesture makes Louis almost want to cry a little bit. He also tells him to answer his texts, and maybe Louis _should_ have a look at his phone after the match has ended, instead of avoiding everything out of fear. Procrastination is usually not really his thing, but turns out he’s really good at it.

He masks his own fear and focuses instead on grinning at the boy that’s patiently waiting for Louis to take his hand, then looks behind him at the line of players – only to find Harry already smiling back at him.

Weirdly enough, it helps ease his own nerves as he focuses instead on the joy that’s pouring out of Harry’s expression. Louis grips the little boy’s hand in his, waits for the camera to pass him by before following his teammates out onto the field.

Maybe his hand is a little clammy, and maybe his tummy feels like it’s doing summersaults inside his own body - it’ll be okay, this time. All that matters is that they work together and win this match to secure their advancement to the next round.

It’s defiantly harder than the game against Russia, but at least Louis feels like he isn’t anyone’s assigned target this time around. He can see Southgate getting more agitated as time goes on, and so do his teammates.  

It’s the frustration that causes them to fuck up, and suddenly Morata is breaking through their line of defence, bypassing Harry. Pickford tries, but the ball skims right over his fingertips.

The score haunts them all the way through halftime. Southgate gives them some – well, constructive criticism, Louis would say. The technical staff quickly go through a couple of strategies, followed by a motivational little speech courtesy of Harry Kane. It’s supposed to be inspiring, but it only makes Louis more nervous. He doesn’t want his World Cup tenure to be the one where they get kicked out of the tournament in such an early stage.

Plus, if he’s being realistic – the better they do, the more the news cycle will be focused on their results, rather than the footballers’ private lives, including his own.

While they get to start off the second game with the ball in their possession, Jesse Lingard loses the ball almost immediately to an incredibly eager Asensio. Louis runs over, manages to poach it from the Spanish forward, and tries to find an opening.

It seems luck is on his side, because suddenly Raheem is able to sidle up next to him, and Louis lets him take it from there. The momentum increases, rather than fades away, as they charge for the Spanish goal. Sterling passes the ball back to him when there’s nowhere he can go, Louis gives it a powerful kick that sees it land right in front of Kane’s feet. It’s not a pretty goal by any means, but it’s a goal.

They don’t want to settle for a tie, but it’s all they manage to get out of the game. There are no big fouls or injuries that lead to extra time, so at 90 minutes exactly, the whistle blows two times and it’s over.

None of them are happy – not the Spanish players, not Louis’ own teammates, not Louis himself. They should’ve done better, should’ve secured their victory right away, instead of this piss poor tie.

Louis manages to avoid the reporters this time, not very interested in any questions they might want to have him answer still. Besides, he’s irritated by their loss (he knows it’s a tie, but it feels like a loss either way), and he probably wouldn’t be able to provide any useful insights.

He rushes in and out of the shower with his eyes glued to the floor. There are still some on the team that are visibly unsure how to act around him in those moments, which absolutely doesn’t help his mood. If he were to actually look at their faces now, he’d not be able to hold back a snarky remark. On the one hand he gets that it’s a transition, but on the other hand he’s annoyed at himself for thinking it’s a transition at all for his teammates. It shouldn’t be.

As he’s working on pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, he catches sight of Harry entering the room. He looks even worse for wear than the rest of the squad. Clearly, his first cap didn’t go as he’d envisioned. Louis understands that probably like no other – the world cup not exactly panning out as you’d hoped it would.

He can’t help but feel this incessant need to comfort Harry, and even though he’s got a physical therapy session to go to, he decides to linger a little and sidle up to Harry instead.

Harry is in the process of untying his rainbow laces when Louis approaches, but refuses to raise his head when he finishes.

‘You don’t have to wait around for me, Lou, ‘m pretty slow,’ Harry mutters out as he continues to stare at the floor.

“I know I don’t have to. I want to, though,” Louis simply replies before dumping his bag on the floor and sitting back down on the wooden bench. “You’re my bus buddy after all, aren’t you?”

Harry doesn’t smile at that, just makes some sort of noise that Louis will take as agreement. Not that Harry – or Louis for that matter – have much to choose when it comes to bus buddies. Southgate had made it clear from the start they were to go by alphabetical order for seating arrangements on official match days.

Louis’ quiet for a while, smiles up as Raheem passes him by and slaps him on the shoulder. The locker room is almost entirely vacant now, players either off to the bus or still in the shower.

He wants to wait patiently for Harry to speak, to tell him what’s wrong on his own terms – Louis feels a little protective over the younger guy. He’s only two years younger than Louis is, with his 21 years of age, and it must be incredibly intimidating to play your first cap during the World Cup.

‘I’m gonna take a shower,’ Harry says once he’s methodically cleaned his cleats for no apparent reason. Louis’ pretty sure he’s never seen him do it before. They don’t have to. There’s an entire team around them that takes care of all of their equipment. So Louis guesses it’s an anxiety thing.

He wants to turn away from Harry so he can have whatever privacy players are allowed in the communal locker room, but Harry doesn’t seem to care. He strips right down until he’s naked and storms off towards the showers.

Louis feels a little bad when the thought pops into his head that Harry has a nice cock. Then again, he could hardly look away when it was being whipped out right in front of him. It’s not attraction. Just. Aesthetic appreciation. Which, honestly, pretty cocks are a very rare sight, so it’s only to be expected that Louis would notice when he does come across one. Besides it was literally right there in his line of sight. It’s got nothing to do with Harry.

Gomez gives Louis a sympathetic look. He’s also pretty new, though he plays for Liverpool with Alex. “Don’t mind him. Used to play in the junior league with him – gets terribly stroppy after a lost game. You’re wasting your time, mate.”

Louis shrugs. Time will be wasted anyways, given that they’ll be leaving together. He can wait it out either trying to comfort a clearly distressed friend, or he can sit in the bus and get bored. Choice seems fairly obvious to him.

Harry seems rather surprised to find Louis still there when he comes back from his shower. His eyes look a little red, as if he either smoked pot just now while washing his hair, got shampoo all in his face, or maybe just cried a little.

“Good game today, Harold.” He tries again.

Apparently it’s the exact wrong thing to say, because Harry lets out an angry huff, then starts tearing up again.

‘I fucked up, let everyone down today,’ he sobs. ‘I don’t deserve to be here at all!’

Immediately, Louis scoots over – completely disregarding the fact that Harry is wearing nothing but a towel and his chest is, in fact, still covered in waterdrops – and wraps his arms around the other man.

“You didn’t let anyone down, stop saying that. It’s a tie, Harry. We didn’t _lose,_ ” Louis says soothingly.

Harry just shakes his head, and to be honest – if it were Louis, he’d also see a tie as losing. Frankly, it _is_ losing. But he doesn’t blame Harry for it, and that’s where Harry clearly differs from him in opinion.

“You did so well, made such an important assist. I made a really fucking big mistake and it cost us a goal.”

‘That’s not just you though,’ Louis argues. At least this he believes in himself. In the group effort. ‘So what, you made a mistake. We all do. We play as a team. It’s our mistake they got that far in the first place. It’s our mistake no one could help you out. It’s our mistake – or well, Jason’s – for not stopping that ball from hitting the net.’

Harry looks up at that, finally, then sniffles loudly.

“This just isn’t what I’d envisioned. I thought I’d be better, that things would just.. go better here. I was so excited to wear our jersey,” he breathes out, sadness laced through his words.

Louis can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes him as he leans back into the wall of the locker room, and removes his arm from where he’d been holding Harry.

‘Yeah. Can’t say this tournament has been anything like how _I_ had imagined it going either.’

Harry’s eyes widen, as if he’s only just remembered who he’s talking to. Louis feels a little sad about it, but then Harry starts speaking, causing an involuntary flush to spread across his cheeks.

“For what it’s worth, Louis – I am extremely proud to be on the same team with you.”

Louis stands up, figuring there’s been enough idolizing and stroking Louis’ ego from Harry’s side, and hopes that from his side, he’s managed to lift Harry’s spirits – if only just a little bit.

‘It’s okay to want better and strive for better, Harry. But don’t forget it’s a team sport – we win or lose together. If you didn’t deserve to be here, Southgate wouldn’t have selected you, wouldn’t have put you on the field. Don’t be cocky. You’re replaceable until you make sure you’re not. ’

Harry nods at Louis’ words, then reaches out to rest his hand on Louis’ arm and gives it a soft squeeze before letting go.

“Thanks, Louis, truly.”

‘That’s what teammates are for,’ Louis shrugs, to which Harry shakes his head with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Not just teammates – friends.”

Louis swallows thickly, then echoes the word before leaving Harry to change.

‘Friends.’

 


	4. Costa Rica

They’ve got another four days before they play the deciding match regarding their advancement in the tournament. Louis desperately wants England to do better than last time. Obviously the primary goal is to win and become World Champion, but he’s also realistic. They need to focus on their results one game at the time. If they don’t win their upcoming match, they could just as easily be going home – depending on the results of the others in their group.

First thing on the agenda is getting a massage, though. His body hurts all over after running around like a madman for 90 minutes, so he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when the massage therapist rubs out all the knots and tension.

Louis is still not entirely comfortable with the way there’s a security guard named Joni trailing him all the time, but he can’t seem to quench the lingering anxiety of going somewhere _alone_.

Sure, having read some of the public messages his colleagues and peers and random people had addressed to him was nice, but it didn’t _mean_ anything in reality. Of course it’s not all that acceptable anymore to be openly homophobic. Hell, the England team are all wearing rainbow laces to make a point in the football world. But he’s heard too many slurs being used by even the nicest guys, to know that not everyone is _really_ like that. So it’s not that weird, he thinks to himself, that he can’t shake that feeling of unease sometimes when he catches sight of someone staring at him for a beat too long.

It’s what happens when he walks back to his hotel room. There’s a bell boy that can’t be older than 19, and Louis is pretty sure he’s following him. He kind of wants to strangle his old self for insisting Joni leave him to his own devices inside the hotel. “I only need to take the lift to the spa area, then ride it back up again. The entire hotel is filled to the brim with English staff and team members – I’ll be fine,” he’d said.

Clearly, past Louis is incredibly bad at risk assessment, he thinks as he enters the lift with the bell boy following right behind.

Louis turns to give the boy his best, non-threatening smile as he quickly moves to push the button for the right floor, but the boy immediately shakes his head and blocks him from the button.

‘I’ll do it, sir. Which floor?’

He retracts his hand and tells the boy his floor number instead, then stares intently at the fading tattoo on his fingers. It needs to be touched up, maybe fixed a little. It’s one of few tattoos that somehow Louis had forgotten to take proper care of, which is a shame.

‘Mister Tomlinson?’ The boy’s wobbling voice cuts through the silence in the confined space. He almost flinches, but it’s the way the boy continues to speak softly but hurriedly – as if he doesn’t quite know where to start, that makes him listen attentively instead.

‘I just wanted to say – you mean a lot to me, and I know you do too for some of my closest friends. To see someone like me play football, to be proud, I – thank you.’

The lift pings, and the boy seems both relieved and saddened by the fact they’ve arrived to Louis’ floor. All Louis can do is just stare at the boy, a bit stunned by his words. It’s weird hearing it in person, particularly in a country like Qatar.

“Walk with me…?” He manages to ask, as he motions for the boy to follow – this time by invitation.

‘Oh, it’s Qamar, sir.’

It’s clear that the boy is a little bit nervous, and Louis suddenly realises that Qamar is risking just as much, if not more, than Louis is by saying something like that. Louis gets that simply _because_ he is famous, he’s less at risk than actual Qatari citizens. George Michael performed in Qatar when he was already out.

Whenever he travels abroad, Louis looks up LGBT rights on Wikipedia for that specific country. It’s become somewhat of an unhealthy ritual, and he knows that the internet still won’t ever be the same thing than talking to real people about their real experiences.

“If you’d like, I could give you some gear, maybe tickets to go see a match with one of your mates?”

Qamar lights up at that, though he still seems slightly unsure of how he should thank Louis. He waves his words of gratitude away, as he turns the corner to where his room is located. However, Louis can't help the surprised “oh” that escapes him when he sees Harry lingering in front of his door.

Harry looks up at the sound and smiles big, though it fades slightly as he realises Louis isn't alone.

‘Hi, Louis, eh- I can come back later? If you’re busy?’

He frowns incredulously at Harry’s question. “I’m just going to get Qamar here some tickets and a jersey, you can come in if you’d like. Maybe you can sign the jersey?”

Louis turns back to Qamar to check if he’d be okay with that, and he gets a very enthusiastic nod in return.

Harry settles in on the sofa, clearly a little bit confused as to what exactly is going on, but accepting nonetheless. Louis waves Qamar over to a bunch of bags and boxes stacked on top of each other.

“I’ve got a jersey here, and maybe some socks?”

‘Oh sir, that’s really not – I can’t accept this,’ Qamar says dazedly as Louis starts piling up all sorts of gear. His hand hovers over a set of rainbow laces, but he’s pretty sure that’d be too much.

“Please, it’s just Louis,” he replies, than spares a glance at Harry who’s been staring at them the entire exchange. He lowers his voice then, and leans into Qamar to ensure he won’t be overheard. “I eh- I’d give you my rainbow laces, but I don’t know if that’s like, safe?”

Qamar shakes his head. ‘I couldn’t wear those, no.’

“Right. Well, okay. Eh. Here, have some of these socks. You can give them to your friends too. I’ve got plenty.”

There’s an entire box of socks that have both the English flag as well as a tiny triangle embroidered onto them. Everyone’s got their own set of lucky clothes – Louis had mentioned the importance of a triangle and he’d gotten his way. Noone had probably realised at the time why it was so important to him.

He hopes the same ignorance might allow Qamar to express himself, even in Qatar.

Harry walks over with a felt tip marker he’s found somewhere, and signs Qamar’s jersey, then leans over and pulls a cotton bag out of one of the merch boxes to dump all of the other gear in while Louis signs the shirt as well.

Qamar keeps on thanking Louis, and he keeps dismissing it, up until they’re standing outside his hotel room once again.

“Are you good? Safe?”

The words are out of Louis’ mouth before he’s even realised it, even though they make him feel rather insensitive and stupid. Qamar luckily doesn’t seem to mind, as he gives a thoughtful, small nod.

‘It’s not – easy. But there are ways. I’m not alone. And I’m not of marrying age yet, so it does not matter as much right now. Just – people can’t find out. Friends is fine, people – they might hurt me.’

Qamar looks away then, before smiling up at Louis once more. ‘Thank you, Sir Louis, for being you.’

“I – thank _you_ ,” is all Louis gets out as Qamar walks off with his newly acquired items.

He closes the door, only coming face to face with Harry, who he’d all but forgotten about.

‘Oh, eh. I – I didn't mean to pry. Sorry,’ Harry stammers, and quickly takes a step back.

Louis finds he didn’t mind as much as maybe he should’ve. Harry’s got nice eyes, a sweet smile, beautiful dimples and a really good heart. Essentially, Harry is kind of very attractive, and it’s really _really_ inconvenient Louis is only realising this now.

‘I just wanted to ask if you wanted to grab lunch together and maybe do some extra drills this afternoon? Southgate’s just been by and Jones won’t be recovered from his injury in time.’

And well, he can’t exactly say no to that offer, can he? Besides, they absolutely should run some extra drills. They can’t afford to lose the next game – they need to win. And if they want to win, they’ll have to improve their teamwork, drastically.

 

...

 

Turns out Louis and Harry are kind of the dream team. Southgate even highlights it during their strategy meetings prior to the actual game.  They seem to know exactly what the other one is doing or going to do, they are _that_ attuned to one another.

The entire team seems incredibly motivated to defeat Costa Rica, and their hard work pays off. It’s a somewhat easy match, England dominating for the overlarge part. Louis doesn’t score, but he assists two times. Harry has a wonderful save at one point, ensuring that the Costa Ricans don’t get past the line of defence. All in all, it’s a great game, and it’s made even better when they hear that Germany has been eliminated in a shocking turn of events.

Liam invites himself in the moment Louis arrives back at his hotel room, eyes bright with unbridled enthusiasm.

“Louis! You’re doing amazing, interest in you is increasing across the board. Obviously we’ll discuss any new potential sponsorship deals after the tournament, but I wanted to let you know that Nike is hoping for an exclusive deal.”

And that’s – that’s huge. Really fucking huge. Sure, maybe Louis has had multiple dreams about his own Adidas line, and he’s definitely partial to the three stripes – he’ll absolutely take a Nike campaign. Even if it’s just so Nike can make a political statement.

“There’s also a lot of requests for exclusive interviews. I would like to go through those as soon as possible, but I understand you probably aren’t up for any right now.”

Louis kind of dreads the moments where Liam’s full on managerial side comes out. He knows that business-wise, profile-wise, it’d be the smart thing to do. Personally, Louis doesn’t really care. It makes him uncomfortable, even. He just wants to play football, help other kids feel happy about being who they are, and giving others opportunities to grow and learn.

“There’s also the press conference in a bit. Southgate’s asked if you want to join the panel. I said yes.”

That makes Louis look up. Both because of the invitation itself, as well as Liam’s rather presumptive yes.

‘You didn’t even ask me.’

“No. Because I didn’t think it’d be an issue. You’ve been able to avoid being part of any press conference since the tournament started. You’ve been starting every single match. It’s abnormal. Especially when you’ve been so instrumental in securing victories – what with your goal and your assists. You’ll have to face them at one point, Louis.”

He knows Liam’s right, and he doesn’t even have the energy anymore to fight him so he just sighs and mutters ‘fine’.

Louis isn’t fine, though. He’d wanted to spend the time after the game with Lottie, facetime his mum and other siblings – see if they would tell him how it’s been for them at school. He worries, even if they tell him he doesn’t have to. It feels like his responsibility.

He also would’ve liked to maybe confide to Lottie about the disconcerting realisation that Harry Styles is most definitely completely Louis’ type. Which is a fucking disaster waiting to happen.

That’ll have to wait now, though.

The moment Louis walks up the small podium, cameras start flashing and he immediately feels out of place. He sits down after shaking hands with the others – technical staff members, Harry Kane, and of course their coach Gareth Southgate.

For the overlarge part, Louis gets to tune out and sit back while Harry and Gareth take on most questions. There are some comments on the system they’re using, which interests Louis insofar as that he has his concerns about how Brazil will respond to it. Apparently some of the journos agree. He finds himself nodding along to what their technical manager explains, before he suddenly realises that he’s being addressed next.

‘Louis, clearly these past few weeks have been personally challenging for you. Do you  think it’s affected your performance during the group stage?’

An ugly feeling starts to uncurl in his chest at the phrasing of the journalist. “Does it _look_ like my performance has been affected?”

Southgate coughs as if he’s going to add onto Louis’ rather short and snarky reply, but seems to decide against it – instead signalling for the next question to be asked.

‘Louis, it’s nice to have you here, I’d like to ask about the incident in the game against Russia. Could you elaborate a bit on that?’

He wants to roll his eyes, tell them to fuck off, but he knows he has to play at least somewhat nice. “I’d rather elaborate on the match we just played against Costa Rica.”

The reporter seems annoyed but lets up, instead asking how Louis views their chances and if there’ll be a change in strategy for him personally. It’s a nice change of tone and the questions that follow are perfectly normal, football-related questions.

It’s when Louis is busy taking a sip of water that he’s addressed once more, and he realises that it’s the very same reporter who’d asked him his first question.

‘I’d still like you to elaborate on how the tournament’s changed for you after the news came out – forgive me for the poor phrasing,’ he presses.

Louis huffs, and lets out a hollow laugh. “What is it that you’d like to hear, exactly? The World Cup is the World Cup! It’s an honour to play for the national team, and I feel extremely grateful that I get to experience this at all. Me being gay has nothing to do with how I value any of that, as a football player. Excuse me for _my_ poor phrasing, but I’ve always liked balls. Turns out I like them on and off the football pitch, so what? If anything, my love for them should make me even better at football, don’t you think? Does that work for the headline you’re looking for?”

He resolutely looks over at Southgate, nods his head once in respect to his manager, before walking off stage. It’s extremely unprofessional, he knows that, and he really doesn’t need Liam stalking up to him and telling him the same thing.

‘I am _so_ sorry,’ is what Liam actually ends up telling Louis once he gets within earshot. ‘That was not supposed to happen.’

They’ve made it to the lift, and Louis tries to wait patiently for the doors to open, but ends up jabbing the button in quick succession out of sheer frustration.

“I can’t fucking believe – it’s so fucking embarrassing! Here I am playing in the World Cup, and all they care about is whether or not I’ve suddenly started playing better or worse now that I’ve been outed!”

‘I didn’t think they’d ask that stuff, there were _instructions_ and it’s just bad etiquette,’ Liam continues on, only to be cut off by the doors of the lift finally opening – revealing none other than Harry.

“Oh, he- what’s wrong?”

Liam looks rather distraught and somewhat perturbed by the interruption, but Louis can’t help but feel grateful for having the distraction of Harry.

‘Want to play some FIFA?’ He butts in, even though Harry was literally just coming out of the lift – presumably on his way out.

Harry tilts his head to the right, a confused frown evident on his face. “Uh, sure?”

‘C’mon curly, say it like you mean it,’ he prompts, eliciting an amused smile from Harry.

“I do! I wouldn’t say no to you.”

‘Lou, I really think we should talk about what happened first,’ Liam starts, but Louis elbows him in the side. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to ignore it, and hopefully forget about it, and move on without ever being reminded of it.

Louis rubs over the words tattooed on his arm as he asks if Harry’s ever met Liam.

“I – eh, no, but I guess I know _of_ him? I eh, well, I was – I mean _am_ – a big fan. Like, not in a weird, creepy way, obviously,” he rushes out.

All Louis can think to himself is that Harry’s lips are unnaturally pink, and his cheeks are unnaturally rosy, and he kind of wants to study his face up close all day. He wouldn’t mind weird, creepy Harry.

Obviously it’s a very bad idea to harbour and feed a crush on your probably very hetero teammate, but it’s definitely still a better idea than having a serious conversation about how he just stormed off in the middle of a press conference.

‘Liam’s great at what he does for me, but he’s not very great at FIFA.’

It’s exactly the right thing to say, because he can immediately hear the offended scoff escaping Liam’s lips. As Liam starts boasting about his FIFA skills and how he’ll teach them both a thing or two about football – unironically so, Louis just smirks to himself. He’s a master in distraction.

 

...

Or maybe not.

Perhaps it was a bit too easy to think only Liam would want to talk things through with him.

They’re in the middle of a very intense match – Louis vs Liam, since it turns out Harry is absolutely dreadful at FIFA – when someone starts knocking his door incessantly.

For a split second, his mind flashes back to the start of the tournament’s group stage, with Liam coming to get him for a meeting. The split second is all it takes for Liam to steal possession of the ball, and for Harry to get up from the sofa and announce he’ll get the door.

As Liam cheers, Louis can hear Harry gasp. He turns around, and comes face to face with Gareth Southgate.

‘Louis. Could I talk to you, just for a bit?’ He looks tired, and Louis feels incredibly guilty for all the additional stress he’s unintentionally caused the man.

He swallows once, then points towards the sitting area of his suite. Gareth nods at Harry and Liam, but doesn’t make a move to send them away. They’re both staring back at Louis, trying to decipher his facial expression.

‘I need you to know that I understand why you left the press table, but I also need to tell you it’s unacceptable. You don’t do that. We cannot control the press, but we can control our own behaviour. I want you – no, scratch that, I _need_ you to be professional. As unfair as it is, maybe even more so than any of the others.’

Louis is quiet as he listens to his coach berating him. It’s not like he doesn’t get where he’s coming from, but he also doesn’t quite know how else to handle all this. Is it expected of him that he’ll just take all the abuse? Because he refuses to be ridiculed for or reduced to just his queerness.

“Okay, sir.”

Southgate lets out a heavy sigh, then shakes his head, corner of his lips pulling up into a small smile. ‘You know I hate that. Listen, I’ll be frank here. I need you in my line-up, because you’re a key component to our strategy. But I’ll sub you out if you’re hotheaded or distracted during the match, alright? I want you in the headlines for being man of the match, not for cussing out reporters or players. I won’t have you risk our shot at winning the championship.’

Louis nods tersely, mind reeling with the thinly veiled threat of being subbed over his outburst. Liam scoffs the moment Southgate’s out the door. “Subbing you over a headline?! What’s he even thinking!”

There’s not much Louis can do but shrug. He’s playing so well – has been throughout the season. None of it is going as he’d expected it to go, and it’s frustrating to have something else dominate what should’ve been a virginally beautiful experience. Perhaps that’s a bad analogy, Louis thinks to himself as he remembers his own first time. Not that beautiful, not that great, and riddled with painful mistakes – physically and emotionally.

Harry frowns and sits down next to where Louis has taken a seat on a barstool so he can sip from his water, whereas Liam is still pacing the floor, ranting on and on about the situation.

‘What happened, exactly? ‘s it that bad?’

Louis makes a non-committal noise, “dunno. I said I had a lot of expertise when it came to balls, then stormed off-stage.”

It’s quiet for a really long second, but then Harry lets out an earth-shattering honking squeaky noise that Louis suspects resembles a laugh. It’s absolutely wonderful and immediately gets an honorary place up in his top five favourite sounds ever.

Louis snickers right alongside Harry, while Liam throws his hands up in exasperation as he wails that he’s officially giving up and will retreat to his own room for the time being.

Once they’ve finally calmed down a little, and Louis has given Liam a warm, tight hug in appreciation of his manager and best friend – Harry makes the face again. It’s the one where he furrows his brows just so and there’s a strange stillness to his nose, meaning he’s concentrating and thinking about something. He’s seen it a lot during their strategy meetings when they review footage of their opponents.

“So what made you answer like that? What’d he ask? If you don’t mind _me_ asking that question, that is – I’d totally get it if you don’t want to talk about it, we can talk about anything you want,” Harry rushes out, cheeks turning redder by the second.

Louis shakes his head as he gives Harry a reassuring smile. ‘It’s fine. Or well, it’s not fine, but you’ll probably read about it anyways sooner or later. Just someone angling to get a reaction about the whole… thing, I suppose.’

Harry nods, but it’s clear he’s got no actual clue as to what Louis means. Maybe he’s being a bit too vague when all he does is use hand motions and say ‘thing’, but somehow it’s hard to talk about.

‘I mean, they keep asking me if there’s extra pressure, or how I’m dealing with it, or how the World Cup’s changed for me – it’s frustrating. Of course there’s extra pressure, it’s scary and fucking dangerous. But I wanted this tournament to just be special because of the fact that it’s the biggest football competition in the world. I didn’t want it to be special because of my personal life. I wanted it to be special because I’d be on my A game.’

Louis tries to explain, but he’s not sure anyone else really gets how he feels. He supposes it’s a little too abstract for most. For a second, he wryly thinks back to stories of footballers cheating on their wives or girlfriends. Still – while maybe it casts a bit of a dark cloud over their positive image, it doesn’t change much about how they’re viewed within the sports world. For Louis, that’s different.

Harry seems deep in thought, taking his time to consider Louis’ words. It’s somewhat nice to just pretend for a bit that they have all the time in the world, in the middle of the World Cup, just sitting and talking with a mate.

Normally Louis fidgets all the time, he doesn’t do well with silences and he has a hard time getting out of his own head – but he finds that with Harry he doesn’t mind so much to just sit still and patiently wait for Harry to finish whatever spiralling thought he is having.

“I think – maybe, they just need you to say that? Like, maybe, they might not mean it in a negative way? Because it _is_ a big deal, yeah? Like, what you’re doing is so amazing and brave. It means a lot of things to a lot of people. It’s _new_ and _revolutionary_. Maybe they just want to acknowledge that – in their own way?”

It still makes him feel uneasy. ‘I don’t want to give them what they want,’ he pauses and considers whether or not to confide in Harry.

‘You know, there was a plan, right? I was going to use _that_ ,’ he points to the packets of rainbow laces strewn around the table, ‘and build on it. Like, continue to wear them. Have people take note of it, then move from soft confirmation to an actual statement. Everything’d been discussed with Man U, my sponsors – everything. I’d have been able to tell my _own_ story. Instead of some sensationalist dickbag wanting a nice headline.’

He’s getting worked up all over again, can feel the painful swelling of his throat as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. Suddenly there’s a hand resting on his thigh, though, and it’s all he can focus on next.

“I’m sorry, Louis. I didn’t really – I guess, somehow, I didn’t think of that?” Harry sounds apologetic and embarrassed, which isn’t at all what Louis wanted but he doesn’t really know how to fix it, either.

So he just does what he always does, and laughs it off with a self-deprecating joke. ‘What, you saw my nudes that resemble an amateur gay porn shoot, and thought – whoa, what a great bloke?’

Harry seems to flush and immediately retracts the hand that had been softly burning into the flesh of Louis’ thigh – despite being separated by the flimsy fabric of Louis’ grey joggers. It’s probably best, because Louis’ quite sure his body would’ve betrayed him if his hand had slipped upwards just a millimetre or two.

Still, he can’t help but feel like the reminder of Louis’ sexuality being an actual real thing, rather than something abstract is what makes Harry recoil – and it hurts.

“I didn’t – didn’t, I’m – I wouldn’t,” Harry stammers out and Louis’ not exactly sure what he’s trying to convey, but there’s a certain steadfastness and sincerity in Harry’s green eyes that is extremely distracting to Louis’ own train of thoughts.

‘It’s fine, Harry. ‘m just teasing anyways,’ he pauses and tries to offer up a smile. It’s probably not half as convincing as it should be, but Harry lets him get away with it. ‘Let’s play another round, yeah? I’ll teach you some tricks.’

Harry hums in agreement, and settles back into the sofa.

If their knees touch once, twice, a couple of times – no one has to know but them.

**  
**


	5. Knockout Stage: Brazil

**Knockout stage: Brazil**

 

Preparing to play Brazil doesn’t run very smoothly. While some players are sympathetic to Louis’ unease, others on the team are quite clear in their disapproval of how he handled the journalist. They think he’s hogging attention, and being disrespectful – or at least, he’s gathered as much from the way they treat him.

And he gets it, he does. He’d slept on it the night after he’d had his talk with Harry, and realised that maybe his response had been a bit too testy and not all warranted. But he’s so tired of it all. And he’s not ready for this match.

He knows it, Kane knows it, and he’s pretty sure coach knows it too. The president of Brazil, Bolsonaro has flown in to watch Brazil play, and somehow it’s really gotten under Louis’ skin. He’s nervous, and not in a good way. It’s throwing him off. Something like fear and hesitation has settled inside of him, and he hates it.

He probably shouldn’t have watched the multiple video reports on Bolsonaro’s comments. Liam had warned him, but Louis had been stubborn. He’d regretted it as soon as he’s seen the footage, but now the damage has already been done.

What he wouldn’t give to have a cigarette or two, possibly light up a joint just to get the edge off. Instead, he calls Alex. Who in turn does a great job in pretending he doesn’t know why Louis is Facetiming him, and tells him all about his latest adventures with Perrie.

It’s not until the end of the call, that Alex tells him he shouldn’t worry so much. “You’ll do great. You’re a great player. You’re ridiculously good at top bins. The more they say you don’t belong, the more you show that you absolutely do. Just like any other player on the field.”

‘It feels like I have to compensate with excellence, and I can’t play like that. Like I’m not allowed to make even the smallest mistakes, because then they’ll all point their finger at me. They’re not wrong when they point out that I’m an exception, I suppose,’ Louis admitted softly. He hated failing his teammates.

“Lou – they won’t. You’re never going to be able to please a bunch of homophobes. And they don’t matter. What matters is you being in top form. What does that donkey even know about football? He’s a scumbag. Besides, you know you’re not alone. You could easily name at least 3 other players in the Premier League alone who aren’t straight. I know you’d never out them, but maybe it’s some comfort to keep that in mind.”

He knows Alex is right, and any other week he’d not be bothered. But it’s been two weeks already of feeling like a cornered animal, and he’s worn down. His body’s exhausted, and so is his mind.

“Just be you out there. You’ll be fine. And tell that Russian bastard he’s got it coming in the Champions League.”

Louis can’t help but laugh at that, and dutifully nods before hanging up.

The match against Brazil, as he suspected, is anything but easy. There’s a lot of free kicks and even yellows being given out by the referee. Louis tries to ignore the name-calling and the harsh pushes, instead focused on making sure he can properly execute his passes, create space and speed when necessary.

It’s 1-1, second half, and he can see the agitation in his teammates starting to grow. They’re becoming a bit sloppy, a bit harsher too. It’s already a tough game, but they’re really not making it any easier for themselves. Louis knows they just need one shot, one golden moment to get ahead again. He holds his breath as the Brazilians swerve over the field, coming dangerously close to their goal.

But then Harry pulls of a great tackle, and the ball manages to find Louis’ feet so effortlessly it almost takes him by surprise. There’s not much he can do, but try and go for it himself, so he does. He takes off while keeping the ball close, only kicking it further when there’s no direct opponent in sight. Once he spots Raheem, he passes the ball to him, but Raheem can’t finish it. Instead, he kicks it right back to Louis. It’s a split-second decision, but then he’s quickly calculating the distance between him and the goal, as well as the angle – and just goes for it.

“It’s in! It’s in! Tomlinson has done it again! 2-1 for England!”  He smiles wide as he opens his arms for a huge group hug.

Now all they have to do is keep that score, which turns out to be doable, and just like that they’re through to the quarterfinals.

Harry jumps him as soon as the match is over, hugging him tightly before practically hauling him up over his shoulders. “You’re the man of the match!” He screams joyously, as he looks up and points at the big monitors and screens surrounding the stadium.

All Louis can see is the grass, and the back of Harry’s legs from up close. He’s got really nice calves, and that’s absolutely not the sort of thoughts Louis ought to be having about his teammate.

Thinking he’s aesthetically pleasing or generally attractive is one thing, admitting that he’s got a thing for Harry’s toned, hairy calves is on a whole different level.

Louis taps Harry on his back, and he’s slowly put back on the ground again. Then Eric Dier comes over, together with none other than Louis’ Man U teammate Andreas Pereira. He gives Louis a sheepish smile, and extends his hand for Louis to shake as he congratulates him on a good match. It’s good, like somehow all the tension is just flowing right out of him.

Louis doesn’t pretend to understand how he can be supportive of someone like Bolsonaro, but Golovin has definitely made sure that Louis’ standards aren’t all that high when it comes to other footballers. Apparently, Harry feels differently about it, because Louis can feel him hovering right behind him, assessing the situation. It shouldn’t make him feel warm inside, but it does.

Once they’ve all exchanged pleasantries on a match well-played – even if it was rough, they make their way back into the changing rooms. There’s a few other players who make sure to congratulate Louis on being named man of the match, before he finally gets to change out of his dirty, grass and sweat-stained kit. He’s halfway through dressing and is just bending over to reach for a clean shirt that’s still in his bag, when he can hear Harry spluttering behind him. He turns around, shirt hanging onto his arms, only to see Harry motion that he’s just fine.

“m fine, just had some water go down the wrong way,” he reassures Louis in between coughs.

‘Alright, if you say. Don’t choke on me, please,’ Louis replies – which is somehow the wrong thing to say, as it sends Harry into a whole new coughing fit. He frowns and moves to pat Harry’s back, but Harry violently shakes his head and motions for Louis to just go out and onto the bus already.

It’s a little odd. Then again, Harry is a little odd. Frustratingly, endearingly so. Louis’ pretty sure he’s not capable of telling Harry no.

 

…

 

Louis is feeling all loose from his deep-tissue massage when he meets up with his sister the day after the match. The looseness has clearly also affected his lips, as he finds himself blabbing all about his newfound crush.

‘This is amazing!’ Lottie claps her hands together excitedly, while Louis groans out in frustration as he shakes his head at her.

He takes another bite of his salad with a frown, then points his fork at her.

“It’s really not. First of all, it’s unprofessional. Second of all, he’s probably very straight.”  

Lottie gives him a look at that. ‘You should know better than anyone that just because he’s a footballer, it doesn’t mean he’s straight.’

“And you should know that just because he’s my friend, it doesn’t mean he’s interested in me. Imagine how cliché it’d be – even if he were gay. We’d be the only two out players, and of course we’d be dating one another. No. I don’t want to be that person. Gay and straight guys can be friends just fine, and so can two gay guys. Nope. No matter the situation, I just have to get over this stupid infatuation,” Louis concludes.

He can feel himself starting to frown the more he talks. Sure, he wants to have a partner and share his life and accomplishments with someone. But maybe it just isn’t really possible – not for him. At least not now, or any of the upcoming years. He always wonders how Alex manages to do it.

‘But what if you just happen to fall in love with him? At least he’d understand your lifestyle like no other.’  

Louis can’t help but snort at his sister. “Love? Don’t you think that’s a little premature, and a little …  extra?”

She just shrugs in return. ‘You can’t help with who you fall in love, or when. Sometimes it just happens. You just have to be open to it. I want you to be happy, Lou.’

That statement makes him fall silent for a couple of seconds, but then he suddenly remembers just how close Lottie has grown to Harry’s older sister. “You better not tell Gemma about this, or I will end you, bug eyes. No more privileges.”

They both know it’s pretty much an empty threat, as Louis’ ridiculously bad at holding grudges against his siblings. Still, she nods obediently.

‘Fine.’


	6. Knockout Stage: Netherlands

 

**Quarterfinals: Netherlands**

It’s not fine. Louis is 87% sure his sister has said something to Gemma, who’s said something to Harry. Or maybe Harry figured it out all on his own – either way, he’s acting weird.

Harry has avoided him for most of their training sessions, and hasn’t hung out with Louis once throughout the last two days. And it’s actually kind of admirable, given that it’s hardly possible to avoid someone who’s your strategic, dynamic partner according to Southgate.

So it’s not that surprising to Louis that they get called to a meeting, despite doing just about average in the practice game just now. Average isn’t the standard nor the aim for Louis. It’s excellence. He’s competitive as fuck when it comes to his own skills.

Southgate doesn’t actually show up to the meeting, which means he’s so annoyed he’s gotten Coach Butler to do the dirty work for him.

‘Alright boys. Gareth wants you two to get over whatever it is that’s bothering you. So – you can either try and figure it out on your own, or tell me what the issue is and we can find a solution for it. Either way, you best come back to final training tomorrow with your shit all fixed. We need the dream team, not the dreamless team. That clear?’

Louis nods sheepishly, eyes furtively glancing over at Harry. He’s already embarrassed, but he _would_ like to talk about it, at least clear the air a bit. It’ll be awkward, and it’ll be exactly as disastrous as he predicted his sister it would be. But maybe then they can still win the upcoming match. The quarterfinals. They’re so close now, Louis doesn’t even want to think about it. If he goes down that path, it’s bound to end badly.

Their team psych keeps telling them to take it one game at the time, but the closer they get to the final the harder it gets.

“Clear, sir,” Harry squeaks out from next to him. He’s flustered, but he’s still not looking at Louis and it’s both unnerving and frustrating. They’re supposed to work together and communicate. Not complete ignore each other the minute things get hard.

Butler dismisses them once they promise to talk. The moment they’re outside, the air surrounding them immediately fills with tension. Louis crosses his arms in front of his body and sighs. He looks down to inspect his tattered shinguards, before trying to get a clump of dirt off of the front of his cleats. It’s not like Harry is saying anything.

They just stand there for a bit, very uncomfortably silent – until Louis can’t take it anymore. “Do you want to hit the showers first? Then take a shuttle to the hotel?”

Harry looks relieved at the suggestion, as if he’s suddenly realised that he’s capable of speech again. ‘Yeah, please.’

However, they then encounter the reality of having to now shower at the same time. Because they’d been held up by Butler, there’s hardly anyone left in the inner locker room. Dele Alli waves on his way out, and suddenly they’re all alone.

Louis can definitely be normal about this, and it’s not like he’s planning on _looking_ or anything – he’s never done that – but sometimes you can’t help but catch an eyeful. He just really doesn’t want to make Harry uncomfortable. But he also doesn’t want to be the one that offers to take turns. He’s not a coward.

So as clinically as possible, he removes his clothes, gets a towel and walks over to the showers. He doesn’t look at anything but the wall right in front of him, and starts to scrub himself down.

Louis can hear another showerhead turn on, but he refuses to look up and search Harry out. His eyes would drift before he’d be able to catch himself. He quickly rinses out the shampoo that he’d been massaging into his scalp, then turns the shower off and reaches for his towel.

As he pivots on his feet, Louis sees a glimpse of tattooed skin and he groans internally. He used to hate tattoos. Whatever happened to that boy, why could he not still be that boy, he asks himself as he starts the process of getting changed.

‘Are those Calvin Klein?’

Louis turns around on instinct, only to be faced by a really wet, really naked Harry. “Jesus,” he breathes out, desperately trying not to be weird and not to get hard at the sight in front of him.

He’s unravelling little by little, and Louis doesn’t like it one bit. Harry only seems to take note of his own state of undress then, and goes to grab a pair of boxers as well. Still, he doesn’t seem all that bothered by the situation.

‘Looks like we’ll match,’ he all but preens instead, pointing from his own grey Calvin Kleins to Louis’.

Of course. Louis is so fucked.

He gives Harry a small smile, then gets back to changing into a comfortable pair of Ellesse joggers. They’ll be taking the shuttle, so not wearing their official gear should be fine.

The silence between them returns, but the awkwardness seems to have faded a little. Louis suggests they listen to some songs he’s got on his phone, ad so they end up sharing earbuds in the back of a shuttle van. It’s disconcerting to Louis how much he enjoys it. This is his (presumably, probably) straight teammate. Very much off limits, but it’s too late now.

When they arrive at the hotel, it’s like they suddenly remember what they’re supposed to do, and the tension returns tenfold. Harry crosses and uncrosses his arms, before motioning towards the lift. Louis just nods and follows, glad that Harry is taking the lead for a bit.

‘So eh – my room, then? If you’re, like, uncomfortable with that we can totally go to yours or maybe a conference room? I don’t know if we could just go in, but –’

“Yours is fine, Harold,” Louis interrupts his ramble. So clearly, even though he’s taking the lead, he’s very much just as nervous as Louis is.

It takes them another ten minutes to get settled in Harry’s room, freshly brewed cups of tea in front of them.

‘I guess I’ll just start this off by saying I’m so sorry for causing this much stress, and like, acting weird lately. I know I’ve been off. And I don’t know why I never said anything before, but – I was maybe a bit scared,’ Harry starts after taking a deep breath.

Scared? Louis’ shoulders sag and he wants to reach over and hug Harry, tell him he’s sorry, but he’s worried a hug will only make it worse.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I never meant for this to happen, and I wish things didn’t have to be so uncomfortable now to the point you’re scared of me? Which is obviously affecting our interplay. Fuck,” he sighs to himself, hand sliding through his slightly damp hair in an attempt to fix his fringe somewhat.

Harry frowns at that, green questioning eyes seeking out his blue ones.

‘Hold up. Why are _you_ sorry? Ugh, I knew you’d be that type of perfect who’d let me down gently,’ he moans, then lets himself fall back into the sofa.

Which. What? Louis must’ve misheard him. “What are _you_ talking about?”

There’s a muffled reply coming from somewhere underneath a pillow, that Louis can’t possibly be expected to react on, so he just waits for Harry to repeat himself a little louder.

‘You’re letting me down in a way that only makes me like you even more. It’s unfair,’ he explains, and suddenly Louis isn’t so sure what’s up and down anymore, so all he can do is laugh.

“Harry. I thought you were straight. Like, really, _really_ , straight,” he gets out in between giggles.

‘What? No! I thought I’ve been pretty obvious. Like, you’re such an inspiration to me, you were a big part of my sexual awakening the first time I saw you play in the under 18s – which I probably shouldn’t have told you about,’ Harry finishes lamely.

Louis wiggles his eyebrows at him in response. “So you’re a bit of a fanboy, eh?”

‘I used to be. Then I got to actually be on the first team with you here, and now I’m stuck with a very inconvenient, unrequited crush. And I totally get it, that you’re not into me – obviously. Like, it’s fine. You’re way out of my league,’ Harry sniffles and lets out a little giggle at his own word choice.

It leaves Louis the perfect opportunity to interrupt and set the record straight.

“I am inconveniently so, ridiculously, definitely very much a lot into you. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to kiss you right now.”

Harry’s staring at him, wide-eyed, slack jawed. For a second, Louis thinks he kind of resembles a frog, and he’s about to comment on it if only to break the silence, when Harry suddenly launches forward and connects their lips together.

It’s really fucking good. Yes, Harry’s lips are a little chapped from the heat, and their teeth clink together the first time due to pure enthusiasm, but his lips are also just like a dream. They’re soft despite being chapped, and they apply just the right amount of pressure as they move against his own. It makes for a deliciously passionate, on the right side of rough first kiss that Louis doesn’t want to end.

Harry pulls away, stares at Louis as if he can’t quite believe what’s happening, then leans back in for another kiss as he settles his body down right next to Louis. He slowly coaxes Louis’ mouth open, then licks into it as if he’s starving to get a taste of him. Louis isn’t complaining, he quite likes the way in which he’s now connected with Harry, hand tangled in his hair, tongues tangled together as they explore each other further.

As they pull away, breathing heavy, Louis suddenly realises what they’re doing. In his haste to create some distance, he almost pushes Harry right off of the couch.

“I really like you, but this is _so_ not good,” he rambles, not even noticing how Harry’s face darkens. “We’re teammates, it’s unprofessional and probably, like, unethical and against the rules.”

Harry frowns even more at that, but then grabs a firm hold of Louis’ hand.

‘To hold your hand is like sliding sunshine into my pocket. I really like you, Louis. And I’m pretty sure that when FIFA came up with their rules, they didn’t expect gay fraternization to happen within their masculine laddy lad sport.’

Louis is only slightly stunned at the determined look on Harry’s face as he compares Louis to sunshine, but he manages to recover from it right around the moment he mentions gay fraternization. Still, it doesn’t ease any of Louis’ fears.

“You don’t understand – I want this tournament to be about football. Nothing else,” he presses.

Harry doesn’t let go of Louis’ hand, but neither does Louis let go of his. He wants this. He just – hates the timing, ‘s all.

‘We could go on a date after we’ve won the World Cup,’ Harry says with a cheeky smile. Louis had almost forgotten he had dimples. They’re very convincing.

“But you’re not out,” Louis protests, “I wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

He rolls his eyes at Louis and lets out a laugh, fingers playing softly with Louis’ hand, caressing the inside of his wrists. It’s a simple, small gesture but Louis’ never felt something more intimate.

‘I think I’d be okay with being out. It’s been on my mind for a long time, and then you just – did it. Like I said, I admire you, so much. You’re so brave, and you don’t even realise it. But it means a lot, to a lot of people that you’re not afraid to be you. And one of those people is me. And it makes me not afraid to be me.’

“I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a role model,” Louis admits softly, looking down at the way their hands just – fit together. His heart beats a little faster inside his chest.

‘You are, though,’ Harry whispers back, sensing the mood has changed as he lifts their clasped hands to his lips to kiss them.

Louis smiles at that, then suddenly leans back into the sofa and groans loudly.

“Fuck. I promised myself I wouldn’t be that cliché of falling for the first available footballer out there, and here I am.”

Harry pretends to be offended at that, but cuddles up close to Louis nonetheless. ‘Here we are, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

 

...

 

Southgate is pleased when he sees them return to their final strategy meeting prior to the game with smiles on their faces. “All good?”

‘All good,’ they reply almost simultaneously. Strategy doesn’t run as long as usual – they’ve played against the Netherlands quite recently and nothing much has changed about their first team or preferred plays.

Except for their kits. Apparently, England hadn’t been the only country who’d wanted to make some sort of statement. Whereas they have pride laces, the Dutch have pride lions stitched onto their kits, right over their hearts.

Louis is actually quite jealous, and he can’t wait to switch shirts with Virgil. He’d promised him as much, and Louis is definitely going to make him come through on that.

Harry doesn’t look all that pleased as he notes Louis converse with some of the Dutch players that are already milling about in the hallway. So on his way back to quickly grab a headband, he makes sure to pass by Harry and whisper ‘we’ve got stiff competition’ in his ear, letting his arm brush past his groin.

“Of course you’d like puns too, you’re perfect,” Harry groans out in response, and Louis is cackling as he quickly takes off. He’s in good spirits today.

As it turns out, the rest of the team is not. Or well, they are really trying their hardest. It’s just, from kick-off onwards, the Dutch are dominating the match. They’ve got ball possession for most of the time, and even though their defence has managed to keep them from coming too close, Pickford’s already had to stop one pretty good attempt.

They regroup in half-time, and go on the offense, try and make their counterattack quicker – but none of it seems to help. Louis is starting to feel his legs as the clock passes the 90th minute, and they move into extra time. The game drags, and it’s clear that both teams are running out of steam in the sweltering heat of the stadium.

He’s pretty sure they’re heading for penalties, and Louis is starting to feel anxious. He’ll probably be part of the line-up. Harry gets subbed after 110 minutes, and while Louis is sad to see him walk off the field, it’s good to be able to make a last-ditch effort at avoiding penalties.

The new impulse isn’t enough, and just like that they’re all huddled together, drinking water and trying to cool off while Southgate tells them their line-up.

Louis is third. He tries to tell himself it’s fine. He’s not the first, he’s not last. There’s as little pressure as possible on him whilst taking penalties that could take them to the semi-final. He’d laugh hysterically if he could, but he’s so consumed by nerves that all he can do is stare at his laces.

Kane goes first. It’s in. The Dutch match the score, as it zooms past Pickford right into the net. Rashford is next, and it’s like a carcrash happening in slow motion. His foot’s turned out the wrong way, and his body completely tips off the direction in which he’s going to go. It’s not a surprise that the ball gets stopped.

He hopes Jordan is able to stop the Dutch from getting ahead of them, but alas. So it’s up to Louis to equalise them. He tries to keep his calm as he positions the ball on the grass, and takes his time even after the referee has given him a signal.

Top bin, top bin, top bin – he repeats to himself, as everything around him seems to quiet down. Then he just goes for it. He’s done it a thousand times before, so he knows the moment he’s touched the ball that it’s going to go in and that there’s nothing their keeper can do to stop it.

All the sounds and cheers come rushing back in his ears, and he can’t help but cheer himself – hugging his teammates shortly before getting back in line to watch the other penalties unfold.

He crosses his fingers for the Dutch to miss, for Pickford to stop one – just _one_. To give them a fighting chance.

It doesn’t happen. They’re out. England’s eliminated in the quarterfinals.

It’s weird.

Louis can’t quite believe that just like that, their tournament is over. That they’re done. They’ll have to fly back to the UK as losers.

He’s just standing there on the field as if he’s lost, totally disconnected from everything going on around him. His ears are buzzing, and everything sounds muffled, until suddenly Virgil is offering him a handshake, telling him he played wonderful and that it’d be an honour to switch shirts.

A small smile makes its way onto his face as he congratulates Virgil on a good match in return, and then makes his way around the field, before zeroing in on Harry.

He can see the boy is struggling not to cry, and he immediately rushes over to comfort him.

‘Just wanted it so bad,’ Harry mutters into Louis’ shoulder, and Louis nods. They all wanted it bad. They just – today, they weren’t good enough. Simple as that.

“We’ll just have to win the European Cup next.”

The certainty and conviction with which Louis speaks those words elicits a wet smile from Harry.

‘I’ll hold you to that.’

“We’ll do it together,” Louis continues as Harry lifts his head from his shoulder and instead looks up at the crowds. Their sisters are sitting together once again, and Harry gives them a small wave.

‘Together,’ Harry echoes, then pulls Louis a little closer into his chest instead as they walk off the field side-by-side, leaving their dream of winning the 2020 World Cup behind.

 

**...**

 

**London, 4 months later**

“I fucking knew it,” Lottie yells as she shoves her phone into Gemma’s face. "I knew they'd post something today, it was all over their faces." 

Gemma frowns and tilts her head back slightly so she can see what her friend is talking about. She smirks as she sees the photo that Louis has posted onto Instagram.

_‘ **louistomlinson** lost the world cup, won this one instead.’ _

‘I knew he’d be sappy. He’s a soft one, isn’t he?’ She wonders out loud as she whips out her own phone and opens the app herself.

“Yeah. Mum always says he’s so loud because his heart’s so big and well, big hearts are noisy.”

_‘ **harrystyles** love’s (footb)all you need.’ _

What a dweeb.

But a dweeb who loves loud, and that’s all that matters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was it! I really hoped you liked it <3 Leave a comment or kudo if you did ! 
> 
> (Also the comment on hearts being loud is what my mum used to say about my brother when he was younger lol)
> 
> [I'd love it if you shared this Tumblr ficpost after reading! ](https://goodmorningtoyouuniverse.tumblr.com/post/181822056494/like-an-anthem-in-my-heart-summary-frankly-there)


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